


Stan-x-male-reader: Scars

by loopy_lupita23



Series: StanxColumbian Bartender [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopy_lupita23/pseuds/loopy_lupita23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, here’s the sequel nobody asked for! I know, I’m still working on my Ford fic but damn it all, inspiration strikes at the worst moments! This is set in the series right after the Stanchirien Candidate and the unicorn episode. I’m placing it as though the roadtrip episode didn’t occur (not that it wasn’t a great episode!). I suggest reading ‘Gang Rules’ first but it’s not completely necessary. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Stan/male-reader: Scars**

-

**Chapter 1**

“Ha! Nice try bro-bro but I’m un-de-featable!” Mabel hollers, dancing around her untouched flag.

“Ugh. Capture the flag is so much more fun when you have more people to strategize with.” Dipper grumbles to himself.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that- hey! Who’s that shifty lookin’ old guy over there?”

Dipper whips around at Mabel’s question.

A man is standing at the edge of the forest, staring at the shack. He’s wearing an unseasonably long, dark brown traveling cloak, his face covered by a scarf. He’d be weird enough to see on his own but with the sun beating down like it is today the man looks especially out of place.

Dipper frowns. “Actually, I think I’ve seen that guy around here before.”

“Wait, you have?” Mabel asks in surprise.

“Well yeah. I saw him after the election flop. I thought he was a reporter wanting to cover our loss but when I approached him he just ran off. I could swear I’ve seen him a few other times but I can’t say for sure.” Dipper’s eyes narrow as he pulls out a notebook and pen from his vest.

His thumb clicks absent-mindedly on the pen as he observes the foreign man. “What could that guy want? Why is he dressed so warm for the summer?”

“Let’s just ask him.” Mabel says cheerfully, ducking under Dipper’s arm as he calls out, “Mabel, wait!”

“Hello there stranger!” she shouts, causing the man to jump. “Welcome to the Mystery Shack! Are you here to have your mind blown by sheer awesomeness of our _mysterious_ mysteries!?”

The man doesn’t respond, hastily turning and running back down the dirt road.

“Hey wait! Where ya goin’?!” Mabel calls, but he doesn’t so much as slow as he disappears into the horizon.

Dipper huffs heavily as he pockets his notebook and pen. “Great Mabel, now he’s gone. How are we gonna find out what he’s up to?”

Mabel shrugs. “Well, if he _has_ been coming by the shack before, who says he’ll stop now?”

Dipper’s eyes light up at the suggestion. “Hey, you might be right. All I’d need to do is set up surveillance around the house, document how many times he comes by, and then corner him on one of said visits and get to the truth!”

“Whoo! Mystery twins, strike again!” Mabel shouts, giving Dipper a playful shove.

Dipper laughs, returning the shove. “Come on, help me set up the cameras!”

-

“Wh-hey Dipper how’s the footage looking, oink-oink?” Mabel asks, wiggling Waddles directly beside her brother’s face.

Dipper doesn’t flinch at the close proximity of the pet, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “A week. It’s been a week and so far that weird guy has come around at least once a day. Why? Why does he just stand there?”

Biting his lip Dipper fast-forwards the tape. A few times the man takes one more tentative step towards the shack than normal, but immediately withdraws and on those visits he’s gone as soon as he steps away. Other days he stands out there for hours, just staring, never moving. What could he want? Who is he working for? Is it Bill, in some sort of disguise or person possession? Why does he just stand there, watching, and for what purpose?

Dipper shuts off the tape and stands. “I think that’s enough observation Mabel. We gotta see what this guy is up to.”

Mabel frowns a little as she puts her pig down. “And you’re _sure_ about not telling our Grunkles about it?”

Self-consciously Dipper bites the inside of his cheek. “I just want to see how much we can figure out on our own. Great Uncle Ford is a genius, I’m sure he’d be able to figure out this guy’s angle in no time flat, I just…I wanna take a chance on our own first, to see how good we can be. If it looks too dangerous, we’ll tell them. Deal?”

An understanding smile comes to Mabel’s face. She knows her brother really wants to impress Grunkle Ford, sometimes that’s all he talks about.

She loves her twin too much to argue the point and nods instead. “Deal.”

Dipper grins. “Great! Ok, so from the tapes, the guy usually shows up in the afternoon. No later than four. If we sit in the kitchen we’ll have the perfect vantage point to see when he shows up, then we can sneak out and jump him. We just need something to keep him in one space so we can interrogate him.”

Mabel, triggered by the words ‘jump him’, emerges from under her bed, grappling hook in hand. “I’m on it.”

Dipper raises a brow. “Mabel how’s _that_ going to keep him still?”

“I’ll just do like in the spy movies. Shoot ‘em around the legs if he tries to run and the rope ‘ll tangle up around his legs!” Mabel exclaims, aiming the device all around the room.

Frowning, Dipper scratches his head. “Mm, well, if nothing else, it’ll really hurt his shins a lot so he won’t be able to get away. Ok, let’s do it then!”

With a high five the two run downstairs from the attic and into the kitchen. They take their normal seats at the table and look out the window expectantly.

As Dipper predicted, the man is there at the edge of the forest, standing at a distance and staring at the shack.

“Ok let’s get ‘em!” Mabel whispers, waving her grappling hook.

“No, no! We have to wait a minute, give him time to get comfortable before we sneak up on him.” Dipper says lowly, just as Ford enters the kitchen.

He seems surprised to see them sitting at the table. “Oh, hello children, have you eaten yet? I was thinking of making a sandwich for myself but if my brother is still helping Soos at his grandmother’s I can whip something up for all of us.”

Dipper lightens at his uncle’s appearance. “Hi Great Uncle Ford, actually we were just-”

“Dipper look!” Mabel hisses, nudging her brother’s arm.

He looks past his great uncle to the window, shocked to see the man is approaching the house for the first time without wavering.

Ford looks between the twins, confused at the quiet exchange, when a knock sounds at the door. “I’ll get it.” He says evenly as he answers the kitchen door.

Mabel and Dipper are quick to follow, hiding around the corner to get a good look at the mystery man’s face for the first time.

“Can I help you?” Ford ask, unaware of the twin’s interest in the guest.

The man doesn’t speak at first, his head down and the cloak covering him. Then he slowly looks up and with trembling hands he lowers the scarf that is wrapped all the way up to his eyes.

Mabel covers her mouth in a silent gasp while Dipper tenses beside her.

He’s an older man for sure, with dark skin but it’s his face that is startling. The left side of his face is normal, sagging a little with age but nothing severely dramatic where his right side is scarred, badly.

Directly below the man’s right eye is where the scar starts. It’s bubbled, poofing outward almost like a burn with a dim sort of pink coloring to it while the skin around the scar is darker than the rest of his face. The scar seems to form letters on the man’s face.

‘E-L, O-D-I-O’ Dipper mouths the letters then looks to Mabel who is transfixed on the man in the doorway.

The man is looking up at Ford sheepishly. “Um, d-do you…remember me?” he asks softly, his voice heavy with a Spanish accent.

To his credit, Ford didn’t recoil when the man revealed his face but at the question he frowns. “No sir, I can’t say I do. Did we attend college together or are you a local in town?”

The sheer devastation on the man’s face when Ford had said ‘no’ is clear to the observing twins but Ford seems unknowing to it as he lists the places they may have met. “-Of course I have been gone for a number of years, perhaps you mean to speak to my b-”

“It- it is fine. S-sorry to bother you.” The man says wobbly, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He quickly turns, fastening his scarf over his face once more as he walks away.

“Er, sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance!” Ford yells out uncertainly to the man’s retreating back as he disappears into the forest.

Mabel frowns. “Dipper, did you see his face?”

Dipper nods with an identical frown. “Yeah, that looked like a really old scar-”

“Not that!” Mabel snaps. “He looked so hurt! We have to go talk to him.”

Her brother’s frown deepens. “Mabel, are you forgetting that we have no idea who that man is? What if he’s dangerous?”

“Well that’s what ol’ grappling hook is for right?” Mabel insists, giving it a little wave for emphasis. “Besides, don’t you wanna know why he was so sad by Ford not recognizing him?”

Dipper hesitates, his eyes darting between the door and the notebook in his hands. It _is_ a mystery he wanted to solve to begin with. “Well…”

“Dipper, did you kids want lunch?” Ford calls from the other side of the kitchen.

He groans softly. “No thank you Great Uncle Ford, we…Mabel and I are gonna go play while the sun’s still up.”

Uninterested, Ford waves lightly in their direction as he digs in the fridge. “Alrighty, be sure to be back before sundown and watch out for snakes and gremlobins out there.”

Mabel beams, giving her brother a quick hug before pulling him out the door. “Come on, I saw him going in this direction!”

The two don’t have to run through the forest long before they come across the cloaked figure sitting on an overturned log, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders trembling.

At first they merely stare at him, before Mabel takes a few steps closer.

“Mabel wait! We need a plan of approach.” Dipper breaths, reaching out to pull his sister back.

But she easily gets out of his hold and continues towards the man. “Excuse me, sir?” she says gently.

Though she slightly expected the man to jump, it still startles her a little, so she gives him some space.

“Oh, um, I am sorry. I’ll leave now.” the man says, his voice weighted by the tears as he gets to his feet.

“No, no, you don’t hafta leave. We saw you wanted to talk to Stan. Stan Pines right?” She says, taking a small step forward.

The man looks up at the word ‘we’ then looks from Dipper to Mabel before slowly sitting back on the log. “Y-yes, I did.” He wipes his face, a cautiously hopeful look coming to his eyes. “Was that man, not him?”

Mabel smiles and joins him on the log. “Wellll, sorta. That was our Great Uncle Ford, who’s kinda the _real_ Stanford Pines. But then there’s also our Grunkle Stan. _Stanley_ Pines. He faked his death and took his twin brother’s identity while he was away, long story.”

The man’s eyes taper, his hopefulness vanishing, “Yes, I can understand why.” He mutters darkly.

Alarm crosses her face at the man’s tone but Mabel shakes it off and continues. “Oh-kaay. Well, anyways, you seemed pretty upset when you thought that his brother was him, how come?”

The man still has his scarf all around his face, though his eyes soften in what Mabel assumes is a smile. “He was…a dear friend of mine, back in Columbia.” He says gently.

“Oh! We got to see a little of his time there! Are you Rico or Jorje?” Mabel interjects bubbly.

“I am neither of those _pandejos_!” the man snaps suddenly, his eyes narrowing and fists clenching.

Dipper rushes to Mabel’s side, instinctively putting himself between his sister and the stranger. “Chill man, who are you then? And why have you been stalking our house?”

The man sighs; pinching the bridge of what they assume is his nose. “I am, sorry. I did not mean to upset you. It…those are men, among others, I try to forget.”

He says his name tiredly and claims he honestly didn’t know what he expected. “I do not live here. I work in transporting goods. A eh, how do say, truck driver. I was delivering steel to a company in town, had stopped to eat in a diner and on the TV they were talking about him running for office.” A far off look comes to the man’s eyes as he looks out into the trees. “I kept coming to see him but I, would lose my nerve. I just thought…it might be nice to see him again.” He murmurs.

Mabel smiles, “Well, why don’t you come back with us then?”

Dipper and the man look back at her in duel surprise, both echoing an alarmed, “What?”

“Pft, you heard me. Come back with us! Grunkle Stan should be back soon. You can wait at the shack till he gets back.” She says airily.

“Mabel, can I talk to you over there for a moment?” Dipper says tensely, not waiting for her to answer as he pulls her away from the man and behind a tree.

“I really feel like I shouldn’t have to tell you this Mabel but; you can’t just invite _cloaked strangers_ to our uncle’s house! We don’t know anything about that guy!” he hisses.

“But Dipper, look at him!” she insists, gesturing back to the man.

He’s sitting on the log with his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs looking reminiscent of someone waiting outside a principal’s office.

Dipper’s frown lightens at the sight of the man as Mabel continues. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy. And besides, Grunkle Ford is in the house and he’s a crazy mad scientist! In the unlikely chance the guy tries anything I’m sure Ford can take him.”

She smiles slightly. “Come on Dip, I really feel like that guy has more to say to Grunkle Stan than ‘hi’. Just a hunch but you don’t normally look _that_ hurt when someone from thirty plus years ago says they don’t remember you. Don’t you wanna figure out why?”

Her brother huffs through his nose causing Mabel to grin. “Don’t ya? Is the mystery of it just _killing_ you? I bet-”

Dipper groans, covering his ears. “Alright, alright! You’ve made your point.”

“Whoot!” Mabel exclaims, pumping a fist before looking back to the stranger. “Come on, it’s a lot less hot at our place. If you still wanna see our uncle.”

The man hesitates but slowly gets to his feet. “You are…sure? I do not want to be a burden.”

She waves dismissively with a laugh. “No way! We’ve got two old guys in the house all the time, what’s one more going to hurt?”

The man rubs his arm self-consciously and mutters something in Spanish as he follows the twins out of the forest.

While Mabel tells the stranger about the shack and offers to make him her self-declared ‘world famous’ Mabel-juice Dipper trails behind a little, further examining the man.

He doesn’t _seem_ dangerous or to have any weaponry of any kind but even still, Dipper can’t help but hope they hadn’t made a huge mistake in trusting him.

-

You didn’t plan for any of this.

Honestly, it was just supposed to be another delivery then back in your truck and on the road. You live in South Carolina, ironically enough in the capital of the state, Columbia.

You usually didn’t get loads this far out of the way but being a trucker, you can easily say you’ve been to nearly all fifty states. After you had dropped off the load you had stopped in at a diner to get a quick bite.

On the TV they were talking about an upcoming election. It was mostly background noise until you heard his name.

The name of the man you had been convinced for thirty-seven years was dead. Despite all the time that has passed, even now, you cannot bring yourself to say his name.

You had nearly choked when you looked up at the screen for recaps of the debates. The voice that had rung from the TV was the same gravelly rumble you remembered from your youth. That sharp jaw of his, those broad shoulders and those eyes…so beautifully brown.

Some desperate part of you had gotten up and went to this ‘Mystery Shack’ to see him that very day but you couldn’t find the nerve to get closer than the outskirts of the wood surrounding the place.

You hadn’t planned to stay for as long as you have. After the first attempt to see him you had decided to try again the next day but again lost the courage to do more than just stare. What do you say to a man you’ve loved and believed to have passed? What do you say after nearly four decades? How do you approach? Should you even at all?  
These questions plagued you but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave either. For weeks you’ve been making up excuses to stay. ‘The truck is broken’ or ‘weather is too bad to leave’ and so on, allowing you to stay longer.

In retrospect you realize how unnerving it must’ve been for these poor children to see you standing outside their home day after day. You hadn’t meant to be so creepy; you just didn’t know what else to do.

Today has been different. 

Normally, you never see the man you long to see, just the children, other people who must worked here or no one at all. Today, in the kitchen window you saw him. He was right there.

Split second courage coursed through you and you managed to get yourself to the door for the first time. When the man who answered said he didn’t know you, looking so similar in features to _him_ , it was more pain than you thought you could bear so you ran.

You hadn’t expected the children to follow you and you certainly didn’t expect to be sitting in their kitchen, nursing a glass of this…‘Mabel-juice’ did she call it?

As a former bartender you know your drinks and never before have you tasted anything like it. It’s so sweet it hurts your teeth with one swallow yet has a burning after sensation similar to whiskey.

You keep the drink of out courtesy but don’t drink any more than that first gulp. The children, Dipper and Mabel, they are so kind.  
Mabel is more eccentric, talking a mile a minute about this and that, while her brother is more subdued, asking the occasional question, but thankfully both avoid mentioning the scar on your face.

You don’t like taking off your scarf, but the two insist it’s ok and that you look overheated with it on. It’s not a lie, walking around bundled up as you do is not very pleasant but even still, you feel repulsed by yourself, knowing what you look like to the rest of the world.

As you wait with the children you take in the room. It’s nice. Homey. You’ve never been in a place primarily forest; you vaguely wonder what it’s like in winter when a door opens in another room, presumably the front of the house.

The moment it opens Mabel dashes out to it. “Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan! You _need_ come to the kitchen!”

“Just a minute sweetie, I gotta take these muddy shoes off.”

The deep, gravelly voice that responses to her makes your hands shake. So, he really _is_ here. It’s really him. Ok, ok, this is happening, it’s ok. Your hand instinctively jumps to cover your right cheek as you try to calm yourself down with little prevail.

“Come on, _come on!_ You gotta come to the kitchen!” you hear Mabel say.

“Yeesh, will you wait? I’ve been helpin’ Soos get his stinkin’ satellite hooked up for hours. My back is killing me; he made it sound like all I’d have to do is run a wire through something or other.” He says, his voice getting nearer.

You take a sharp breath and grip your free hand into a fist on the table when he arrives with Mabel at his heel. The anxiety bubbling up in your chest feels ready to burst. You don’t know what you’ll say or what he’ll say, you’re not even sure you’re ready for it.

However, he’s distracted as he enters the kitchen, grumbling about his age and needing an ice pack. He doesn’t even look in your direction as he enters.

“But Grunkle _Sta~an_! There’s someone to see you!” Mabel whines, stomping a foot on the ground, trying to get her uncle to turn.

He doesn’t though, burying himself in the freezer. With every second he’s there your heart rate rises, your breath stopping, yet still he is oblivious.

“If it’s some yahoo wanting to tour the Shack again give ‘em my spare glasses and tell them to read the ‘temporarily closed’ sign.” He says.

Mabel groans, digging her palms into her eyes. “No it’s-”

You can’t take it anymore, the tension twisting into your gut like a knife. You stand, pushing the chair back loudly.

“St-Stan!” His name echoes from your lips for the first time in decades, a little louder than you’d intended.

But it has the desired effect.

He turns quickly; the ice falling to the floor and when he looks at you time seems to come to a halt. Older though he may be, Stan is just as you remember. Tall, barrel-chest with his same strong jaw, that large nose and those hefty arms. His hair is gray now, shorter cut and the glasses on his face seem to be real this time.

The hand on your cheek tightens as you gaze at him. He’s wearing a black suit with a white undershirt, a red bolo tie and an odd little red hat; an outfit that really suits him. No one says anything and you’re not sure for how long. The four of you standing there, you don’t know what the kids are doing but you honestly don’t care. Right now, you only have eyes for him.

You repeat his name, softly this time. “…Stan.” For the first time in years, saying his name doesn’t rip out your heart. In fact, it feels good. Simplistic. Just as you remember.

He takes a few steps forward. “I…it-it can’t be…is it, really you?”

Tentatively, you lower your hand from your face, smiling faintly at the sharp intake of breath it causes him. Your damn eyes have begun to water; your voice sounds teary when you answer with a shy shrug. “It’s me.”

The look on his face is open, almost vulnerable. His eyes remain locked on yours as he comes in nearer.

“Kids go upstairs.” He says numbly.

The room erupts with protests.

“What?! Oh come _on_!”

“We’re the ones who brought him here, why can’t we learn about your dark past?”

At that Stan looks away from your face, his expression hardening slightly as he turns to the children and points out of the kitchen. “Upstairs now!” he snaps.

Grumbling, they leave. You manage to cast them an apologetic smile but are glad they are leaving; you’re not sure how longer you can keep yourself together with Stan here, alive. That thought alone has a few renegade tears slipping down your cheek. He’s alive. Alive! And he’s here, in front of you, right now. Stepping closer…

It happens so suddenly. One minute he’s approaching you and the next you’re in his arms, your face to his still broad chest. You gasp at the abrupt contact, but immediately dissolve into it, wrapping your arms around him.

Before you know it, you’re bawling. Loud, obnoxious sounding to your own ears. You bury your face further into his chest, muffling the sound slightly. With the close contact you can feel he’s not as trim as he was in the past, though, you can say the same for yourself. Age is a funny that way.

Stan’s large hands run over your back in a soothing circle. “ _Está bien. Ya se terminó. Estoy aqui ahora_ (It’s ok. It's over. I'm here now).” He whispers, in flawless Spanish no less! Though still heavy with his American accent. The words only make you sob even harder. So much time has passed, so much must be different; he’s much more proficient in your native tongue than when you first met.

It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

Hell, this whole situation is!

You’re unsure how long you stand there, wrapped in his arms, weeping like a child, before you manage to regain a bit of self-control and the crying ceases.

When you’re left with soft hiccups and sniffles Stan pulls away from you slightly, looking you fully in the face. God, those eyes are as perfect as you remember them being.  
Gently, he brings a hand up to your face, cupping your chin as he softly runs his thumb over your scarred cheek. Initially you flinch when he first touches it but relax as you look at his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

“…I thought you were dead.” He whispers hoarsely.

A shocked, short laugh tears from your throat. “ _Me_?! You were the one they were going to kill!”

Stan grins, that same, lovable look you recall. Mischievous, with a hint of smugness. It melts your heart just looking at him. “Who me? Nah, takes more than some Colombian thugs to put me outta the game.”

The two of you share a laugh, smiling softly at one another. The look in his eyes is tender; it takes you back to that first night, the very first time he looked at you so. His hand is still holding your jaw.

You lean forward slightly, hoping to bring your face closer to his, yet the action seems to spook him. His eyes widen slightly and he pulls away with a cough, then gestures to the table.

“Uh, h-here. Have a seat. I’ll make some coffee. Not as good as the stuff you’re use to but uh, it does the trick. You hungry?” He says all this quickly, moving away from you to the kitchen cabinets.

You fight back a frown as you return to your seat. “No, thank you. I ate before I arrived.” Though when you think of it, you doubt you’d be able to hold anything down with how much your stomach is tumbling about.

Stan chuckles, his back still to you, “Heh, your English has gotten a hell of a lot better.”

You smirk. “As has your Spanish. _Sorprendente, para alguien tan ajeno_ (surprising, for someone so foreign).”

The loud laugh he lets out at that makes you grin fondly. He shakes his head as he brings the mugs to the table. “Look who’s talking!”

You take the mug and give a grateful nod. Before you drink, you breathe in deeply. The scent of freshly brewed coffee always makes you relax. It brings you memories of home and gentler times.

After your first sip you place it on the table. “I see you have made up with your brother. That is nice.”

His eyes widen as he coughs out the bit of coffee from his mouth back into the mug. “What? Who told you that?”

You blink. “Well, I ah…I just, assumed so. Seeing as he is here. He answered the door when I knocked.”

Stan rolls his eyes, “Huh. Came out of the Bat-cave long enough to answer the door did he? Yeah he’s here, but ‘made up’ is a bit of a stretch. I bring the guy back from certain peril n’ his first response is to get a cheap shot at my mug.”

You frown. “Huh?”

He waves off your concern. “Long story. Point is, Ford’s still a work in progress.” Stan places the cup down, his eyes softening. “Unimportant really, seeing as you’re here now. How’d you even get to the US? How’d ya find me? Whatever happened to…well, you know, _them_.”

You sigh heavily, bowing your head. “There’s…not much to tell really. El Odio was overrun, the gang taken over by another that had more influence, power, or weapons. I never knew for sure. Of course, I never tried to find out. My brother disappeared not long after.”

“When they fell I made a point to keep myself away from their rivals and everyone in general and when my mother and father died, I made the decision to move to America. Columbia had nothing else to offer me and staying in my home town was trouble. What with this and all.” You gesture to your face.

The look on Stan’s face is hard to describe. He looks sad, yet he smiles slightly when he says. “All these years, and you still can’t grow any face hair? A beard would cover that right up. Hell, maybe even a really long mustache would do the trick.”

Self-consciously, you rub your jaw and look down. “You know it’s not like I haven’t tried. Not all of us are hairy _simios_ (apes) like you.” You mumble.

Stan laughs at that. “It’s a gift alright. So then, how long you been in the good ‘ol US of A?”

Glad to be off the topic of your lacking facial hair you continue happily. “I began the immigration process about ten years ago and ever since its completion I’ve been living in South Carolina, the town of Columbia, of all places.”

When you look up Stan is scratching his temple. “Ten years ago…wow. If I’da known I’d…well, maybe not. Maybe you wouldn’t ‘ve wanted ta see me then.”

You gape at him for a moment before you scoff. “More likely I wouldn’t believe it! How did you make your escape? When El Odio carted me off they were talking about drowning you in the trunk of that car.”

Stan leans back in his chair, his hand folding behind his head. “Ha! Now there’s a good story…”

As Stan recalls his daring escape from death you’re the perfect audience. Attentive, gasping when appropriate and relieved at its’ conclusion of him making it back into the states but still being blackmailed by Rico.

“Money’s a small price to pay for your life Stan.” You say.

Stan scoffs. “Easy for you to say, you weren’t making a killing only to give seventy percent of it away to some jerk off.”

You shrug. “Unfortunate as that was, if Rico had told anyone of your escape I doubt I’d be sitting here today talking to you about it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He pauses thoughtfully before sitting up. “So, what did bring ya out here, today of all days? You still haven’t told me how you found out I was even here.”

Embarrassed, you stroke the back of your head. “Welllll…I work as a truck driver. I was delivering some machinery to this town a week ago when I stopped in a diner before I was to leave. I saw you on a television there. At the time you were running for mayor. Sorry for the loss.”

Stan ignores your sympathies and scoots his chair closer to yours. “Wait, wait, wait, wait. What? Yer tellin’ me ya’ve been here for a week and this; this is the first I’m seein’ ya?" It’s hard to maintain eye contact at his tone. “I was…afraid.” You chuckle softly. “Actually, if it hadn’t been for those…grandkids? Of yours, I would have probably continued looking on from afar.”

There’s a pause, you’re not sure of the expression on his face, as you haven’t looked up, but you can feel Stan is staring you down.

“What could ya possibly been scared of?” he asks lowly after a moment.

You shrug, attempting to relax. “That I’d been mistaken. That this was the wrong place to be. That it wasn’t really you I saw. Or that it was but that…you had forgotten me.”

He says you name tenderly and when he does you look up immediately. Oh how long it’s been since you’ve heard your name spoken in such a way, by his voice. But the look on his face is wounded, not gentle.

“How could ya think that, for even a second, I’d forget?” he asks.

You blink, surprised at the sudden change in his demeanor. “Um, well…time does that. Makes people forget many things. I wasn’t sure I was even worth remembering. It seems you’ve had quite an interesting life without me.” You state evenly, attempting to smooth things over.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as a startling frown now mars Stan’s handsome face when he gets to his feet and walks away from you. “Well if that’s how little ya think of me then why’d ya bother comin’ around to begin with?”

Hastily, you stand as well. “No, no! I, th-that’s not what I meant. I-I just, it was so long ago. I didn’t think I was important even to-”

A choked, sort of affronted noise leaves Stan as he spins around to look back at you. “Oh is that so!? You really think I’d forget the only decent person I met in Columbia? The guy who said he _loved_ me, right before I was being led to my death-”

“Well you never said you loved me back!” You cut in defensively.

“I didn’t get the chance to!” Stan snaps.

You bite your tongue; he’s got you there.

Stan is breathing a bit heavily, the anger still evident on his face. Meekly, you step forward. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to upset you.”

At your words, the rage deflates from him, his shoulders slumping slightly. Stan huffs as he brings up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Christ, you must really think little of me to think I’d forget ya.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, though you’re spared from speaking as he lowers his hand and approaches. “Ya think I’d make the rookie mistake of falling into the gang’s setup over some random tail? Ya think I’d offer to take you with me to Venezuela if you didn’t mean somethin’ to me?”

It’s hard to think of a response to the questions when he’s asking them so quickly and once more getting so close to you.

Stan is right in your face now; you feel one of his broad hands come up behind your head. “When you’d met me, that was the lowest point in my life. No friends, no family, foreign country, and right out of jail with only the shirt on my back. I was worthless. Hell, _lower_ than worthless.”

Your breath hitches as he brings his forehead down to meet your own. “And yet somehow, you saw someone worth your time. Worth your…love. I never got to tell ya my feelin’s when you finally did get the nerve tell me that’s how ya felt but in my gut, I think I knew, it was always far more than just a fling.”

His breath is warm against your cheek as he lets out a small, humorless chuckle. “You treated me better in a few months than my whole family did practically all my adult life. Of course I loved you.”

For a moment you’re pretty sure your heart has stopped beating. You stare into his deep, russet eyes in disbelief but a soft smile is all he gives in response.

Hesitantly, you bring a hand to his cheek. “L…‘loved’?”

The smallest tint of pink rises to the bridge of Stan’s nose at the question. He exhales noisily. “Would it be pathetic of me ta say I’ve been holdin’ a torch in the back of my mind for a person I was positive I’d never see again?”

A strangled laugh leaves you; your heart may very well be bursting at his words. Or at his striking face, looking so adoringly at you. You! Of all people! “No more pathetic than me holding out for a man I was positive was dead.” You mumble, tilting your head up slightly to brush your lips against his.

It’s such a small action you’re not even sure it really qualifies as a kiss. You feel his lips are a bit chapped and the slight scratch of his prickly jaw but that’s all before you pull away.

Your eyes meet when you pull back. There’s a softness in Stan’s eyes you hadn’t seen in years. A look of open, vulnerability that takes you back to that fateful day, his birthday no less. In remembrance of what happened before, you’re much more prepared for now, when he rushes you, backing you forcefully against the kitchen counter with a much more heated kiss.

It feels like he’s trying to devour you, all force. Your nose is crushed against his cheek so you open your mouth to breathe; only slightly taken aback when his tongue slips into your mouth.

He tastes like coffee and his tongue feels electric when it mingles with your own. You kiss him back, fisting his hair in your hands, knocking his silly hat to the floor.

The world seems to stop spinning to you. Nothing else is even in existence anymore, only his lips smacking against yours, his husky breath against your jaw as he kisses downward towards your neck.

“Stan…” Your voice sounds whiney and needy in your ears. You think it must be annoying, but the approving groan from Stan tells you otherwise.

He moves in closer, grinding against your leg. A high pitched whimper leaves you when you feel his clothed erection on your thigh. It’s embarrassing really, you always were so noisy and he’s not even really doing anything…yet.

You’re practically panting as he unbuttons the first two buttons of your shirt, moving his lips down to your collarbone.

A sharp moan of pleasure dies on your lips when heavy footfalls sound behind Stan and a call accompanies them. “Stan~ley, geez! Did you forget to change your hearing aid battery again? I’ve been- oh.”

Both you and Stan look over Stan’s broad shoulder to see his twin brother, who has just walked into the kitchen.

Guiltily, you try to push Stan away, but he resists, holding you tighter as he snarls at his brother. “Fuck _off_ Stanford! I’m busy here.”

His brother looks unimpressed as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Clearly. I was just calling to ask if we were going to have a family meal or fend for ourselves tonight. The later seems apparent.”

You turn your gaze to the floor. “I am, so sorry sir-”

“Don’t apologize to _him_!” Stan grumbles in your ear.

Stan’s brother holds his hands up defensively. “No need to be so hostile Stanley, I have no objections to your affairs. I’ll leave.” He then turns, muttering to himself. “Suppose I can get something from the fridge later.”

An irritated huff leaves Stan as his grip on you relaxes, you breathe a little easier at the sight of his brother’s retreating back.

“Though I would suggest you move your dalliances to a less public area, Stanley! I may not have been in this dimension in a long time, but I’m pretty sure this kind of risqué behavior is still inappropriate for the children to be viewing.” His brother calls out suddenly, though you can no longer see him.

At his words both you and Stan turn to the other entryway of the kitchen, just barely catching a glimpse of the two children ducking out of sight.

Stan’s entire face turns a bright red as he abruptly pushes you to arm’s length before adjusting his pants. You silently thank God that his back was facing the entrances during your brief entanglement. He may slump a bit now, but his broad stature was sure to shield both yourself and his…excitement, from their viewing.

“Kids!” He shouts.

Awkwardly, the children, Dipper and Mabel, emerge in the entryway. Before they can even speak Stan is on them.

“I thought I told you two to go upstairs!” he hollers, more out of discomfiture than anger.

“Wh-we were just curious about this guy-” Dipper stammers.

Mabel seems undeterred as she approaches with a smile so wide it’s nearly blinding. “Grunkle Stan! Why didn’t you tell us you have a dark, _romantic_ past too?”

You’ve never felt more embarrassed in your entire life. You can’t even bring yourself to look at anyone anymore, covering you face with both your hands and turning to face the cabinets.

You hear Stan groan; you can imagine him covering his face as well at the little girl’s statement. “Oh God. L-look, this is none a’ yer business! Now go upstairs, and I mean it this time!”

With a bit of complaining, they do comply and you feel Stan leave after them to ensure that they do, in fact, go to their room this time.

Despite being alone in the room you still don’t uncover your face; the lingering mortification is just too much at the moment. You feel the sag of your skin on your face, reminding you you’re far too old to be romping around like a young man. It only adds to your current humiliation.

Although this was embarrassing, you’re surprised the reactions of his family aren’t more along the lines of disgust or horror.

It’s certainly a response you’ve grown accustomed to whenever your sexual orientation was found out by another person.

You hear footsteps, assuming Stan has reentered the room, you lower your hands.

His face is still a little pink as he rubs the back of his head. “Ahem. Er, sorry ‘bout that. Not exactly livin’ alone anymore.”

Carefully, you pick up his red hat from the floor. “No apologies necessary, my dear friend. I am, happy.” You look up at him with a sincere smile. “It’s good you’re not alone any more. I…I often felt sorry for you, back then. Your sad family life. It gladdens my heart to see you like this. Those children, they must love you dearly.”

Stan huffs, though you see the smile he tries to hide under his hand. “Yeah, they’re ok, I guess. Annoyin’ little boogers.”

You roll your eyes fondly, you’re well aware of his gruff affection. Hesitantly, you hand him back his hat. “It’s good to see you happy.”

Stan approaches and gently takes the hat from you, your fingers brushing lightly against one another’s.

You pull back, clearing your throat. “So! Um, you were married?”

Stan places the cap back on his head with a scoff. “If you could call six hours a marriage.”

“I believe it takes a lot less time than six hours to produce children. If memory serves,” you say with a smirk.

Stan laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “True, but the kids aren’t mine. Well, not technically. They’re my great niece and nephew.”

Your eyes widen in alarm. “ _Dios mio_ (My God), just how old are you?”

Stan gives you a playful shove. “Aw blow it out yer ass! I could ask you the same thing old man.”

You snicker, returning the shove. “What, you don’t think I aged beautifully?”

He gives you a warm smile. “Can’t argue with ya there.”

A comfortable silence passes; you bask in the affection of his smile, enjoying the warmth that fills your being; until a slight dread taints it. You scratch your forehead. “So…your wife–”

“No idea. Like I said, we divorced after six hours.”

You frown. “What happened?”

Oddly enough, he laughs quietly, shaking his head. “I was an idiot back then. Met her in Vegas, flirted a bit, drank a bit, and after I won a few hands in poker, she had the great idea of gettin’ hitched.” He crosses his arm and shrugs. “I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t sober either. Figured, why the hell not? Turned out the damned tramp was tryin’ ta steal my car, I called for an annulment that minute.”

You bite the tip of your tongue, unsure of what you want to say. “…But you’re so…good. How could she con you?”

Stan shrugs again, closing his eyes. “A moment of weakness.” When he opens them, his eyes are wistful. “Guess I just thought, it’d be nice y’know? Livin’ my life with someone, ‘stead of bein’ alone. I didn’t love ‘er, but she was nice enough and she asked me. I just thought…for a minute, maybe…”

You approach him slowly. “Stan…”

He chuckles humorlessly, moving his attention to the salt shaker on the table. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Sure the whole “settlin’ down, livin’ your life with someone” was a nice thought, but jus’ wasn’t in the cards for me.” Idly, he wiggles the salt shaker back and forth. “Probably wouldn’t’ve made a good husband anyway.”

“Stanley.” Lightly, you touch his shoulder.

He looks down at you with that same sad smile. “Oh, come on; don’t look at me like that.”

You ignore his remark, gripping his jacket. “How long were you alone?”

“Couple a’ decades. Managed to get in touch with some of the family again after I took my twin brother Stanford’s identity. Convinced my nephew to let me watch his kids for the summer.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “And your brothers?”

At that he crosses his arms again, his open expression clamming up once more. “One’s dead and the other’s a jackass.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Oh Stan.”

He snorts, shrugging your hand off his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Poor Stanley. Anyways, you came all this way, and lied all this time to your boss. Think you’d wanna stay a little longer?”

You blink, startled by the question. “I- what?”

Stan smiles a bit mischievously. “Come on, there’s still a lot of catching up to do. And I’ve got a spare room in the house you could use…for a moderate price.”

The statement is just so…Stan. Much like you remember. You snicker and shake your head. “That’s what I have a hotel for.”

Stan ambles around you to your side, his hands behind his back. “I dunno, I think my deal’s a lot better.”

Mocking, you look up thoughtfully. “And why would that possibly be?”

It surprises you when he suddenly grabs your shoulders and turns you completely to face him. “If memory serves, _you_ still owe _me_ a date.” He whispers heavily.

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone. “Uh, I don’t-”

“Come on; go on a date with me. I promise I won’t plant one on ya, like I did earlier.”

Your look away guiltily. “I, didn’t mind that.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “You and me both. Nice to know I don’t need a little pill to help me out in that department, right?”

Heat rushes to your face as you push him away. “ _Stan_.”

But he doesn’t let up, nudging your chest, repeatedly saying ‘right?’ in that lovably/irritating tone that further serves to make your face hot.

He laughs at your discomfort. “All joking aside though, you deserve more class than that. Stick around for a while, no funny stuff. Just the whole ‘gettin to know you’ crap.”

You heave a heavy sigh, though there’s an unmistakable smile on your face. “Well, when you put it like that…”

He grins. “What can I say? I gotta way with words, or somethin’.”

You laugh, agreeing with the statement, as well as agreeing to stay.

Stan claps quite loudly as he straightens up. “Great! Come on, I’ll give ya the grand tour tomorrow. You must wanna hit the hay after all this.”

As Stan leads you to the bedroom, your chest fills with warmth, though there’s a slight prickle of anxiety. This experience is either going to end very well, or very badly. You certainly hope history doesn’t repeat itself with you in regards to Stanley Pines.

-

Dipper sits on his bed, biting the end of his pen, while Mabel is jumping on her bed in excitement. "Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmy _gosh_! Now this is my kind of mystery! Drama, romance! And grunkle Stan?! Can you believe it?"

"It is a mystery alright." Dipper mutters, turning over his notes. "Looks like a dark one too. You heard Stan say how he chewed his way out of a trunk. I always thought that was just a thing he said. And that guy, when Stan first came into the kitchen he was shaking so hard."

Mabel scoffs. "Well obviously he was just excited and happy to see grunkle Stan after all these years!"

"No, I think it's more than that. And that scar...we'll need to investigate this further tomorrow." Dipper says with a determined nod to his papers.

"Totally." Mabel agrees. A small squeal leaves her as she grabs the phone in their room. "This is so exciting! I gotta tell Grenda and Candy!"

Dipper sighs as he takes off his cap and gets more comfortable in his bed. "Just try not to be too loud."

Mabel nods half-heartedly but as soon as the phone is answered she goes off about a mile a minute. Dipper groans, cover his face with his pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last left our male-reader, he was unsure about stay with Stan and his family. The past was so turbulent, who's to say the future won't match it? Meanwhile, the kids want to know about this mystery man.

 

**Chapter 2**

It’s dark. Complete and utter nothing all around, you can’t even see your hands in front of you but you feel that they exist. Whispers sound in the bleakness; the noises fill you with dread.

Quite suddenly, a small patch of illumination appears before you.

_It’s him_.

The thought comes to you spontaneously as you move forward. You still can’t make out yourself but as you approach you see him and only him.

Stanley Pines.

He’s a young man, with shaggy brown hair but eyes so much more aged than they should be. You can’t see your legs but you feel the muscles pull as you run towards him. You call out to him but no sound emits.

However, he does turn and he must see you, though you still cannot see yourself, as a smile comes to his face, lighting up his eyes and highlighting his strong jaw.

He raises a hand, waving you closer. You break out into a sprint, the joy of seeing him propelling you onward despite the burn you feel.

As you make your way, all too suddenly, hands spring out in the darkness. Dark, shadow-hands that grab Stan from behind, forcing him into a choke hold and restraining his legs.

Terror floods your being as the hands begin to swarm him. You hear his struggle as attempts to fight them off.

Dimly, the nothing lifts and you’re standing on the docks of Columbia once more in the dead of night, with only the lamppost littered about to light the scene. Stan is getting beaten by the gang and you are being held back.

You fight against the hands that have a hold on you, managing to wretch an arm free and reach back towards Stan. You shout his name, your throat aches with how hard you’re screaming but still no noise is made beyond the fighting.

Above all of this, large dark hands appear in the sky, shuffling a deck of cards. The sound of the cards slapping together is ear-splitting, drawing your attention away from the violence.

“It just wasn’t in the cards.” A voice echoes loudly as the colossal size cards begin to rain down from the sky.

You cry out as they crash upon you, heavy and suffocating. You can’t breathe. You’re drowning under their massive weight. You can’t breathe. You are going to die. You can’t-

-

You wake up with a start, nearly falling off the couch you were resting on. Couch. You whip around this strange room, confused to your location for a moment as your brain starts to wake up with the rest of you.

_Stanley. Right, Oregon. Gravity Falls._

The thought is jumbled but enough to get you to relax. Just a bad dream, that’s all that was, with a smidge of trauma flashback.

“ _Ay pandejo_.” You curse softly, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

This happens from time to time. Dreams, terrors, whatever. It’s not always Stan being beaten, occasionally it’s Raul forcing himself upon you or blood pouring from your face as it is being torn open.

You thought, with time, these would cease. Sure, they’ve lightened and you don’t often get gripped into too bad a spell, but stop? No. They never stop. Not completely.

_As if being a gay man isn’t enough, now you want some_ other _mental illness_ _to blame all your problems on. Pathetic._ A mocking thought enters your mind, from the voice in your head that sounds so much like your father it’s scary. It loves to pop up and remind you how much of a screw-up and a crybaby you are.

You shake your head at yourself. “ _Quejica_ _._ Get a grip already.”

With a stretch and a yawn, you get up from the couch and straighten your cloths. Sure, sleeping and then continuing your day in cloths you wore yesterday isn’t _ideal_ , but it wasn’t as though you planned on staying.

Once you’re set, you look around the room, admiring it. It’s very cozy and if Stan hadn’t insisted that his brother was sleeping in the basement, you’re sure he would be here.

“Why the basement?” You had asked and Stan merely waved the comment off, saying something about his brother always enjoying a dungeon or three to play in.

The joke went over your head at the time, but you smiled regardless when Stan had laughed.

Now that it’s morning, however, you find yourself feeling awkward. Should you leave the room or wait for Stan to come get you? He did say he’d give you a tour of the house, or maybe he meant something else, like the town or something?

You frown a little, anxiously rubbing your arm. You don’t want to be rude, walking around as though you own the place or something, but the prospect of staying in this room for an unknown amount of time makes a bubble of fear well in your chest.

Deciding to test fate, you leave the room and make your way back to the kitchen. It is, after all, the only place you really know of the house and somewhere open where Stan is more likely to be, if not the children or someone.

Upon entering the kitchen, however, you stop short at the sight of Stan’s brother, (Stanford or ‘Ford’, is what you recall Stan and the children referring to him by) sitting at the table. He seems engrossed in the book before him, occasionally sipping from a mug on the table.

You stare at him a moment, taking him in a bit more now that you can see him in a less compromising position. He does have many of Stan’s traits. The strong jaw, nose, hell even a similar body build, though Stan is admittedly a bit heavier set.

It’s understandable how easy it must’ve been to take his brother’s identity. To the untrained eye, they could be identical. But you notice that Stanford is slightly…off. True, more fit, but also there’s a very obvious cleft in his chin, where Stan has none. His arms, though muscled, aren’t quite as hefty as Stan’s.

And of course the six fingers on each hand.

Stan had said he’s brother made quite the commodity when they were younger with his extra digits, though at first glance, you didn’t even realize he had them!

Appearance aside, there’s also a sort of coldness to the man that is so unlike Stanley. Not cruel, just…analogical. You think back to when you first met the man and mistook him for your Stan. Though he obviously upset you, he didn’t seem too bothered by that fact. More quizzical than anything.

His eyes didn’t share Stan’s warmth; his posture is more rigid and restrained. His actions, even just picking up the mug and placing it back down, are measured. Coiled tightly, like a snake ready to strike if provoked.

No, this man is very obviously _not_ Stan.

“I’m unsure of how things are in your native culture but here, it is quite rude to stand silently in entryways and gawk at other persons for ten minutes.”

His voice startles you as he doesn’t even turn to address you, eyes still glued to the tome in front of him.

Embarrassed, you shuffle the rest of the way into the kitchen. “I am, sorry. I, didn’t know whether I was welcomed.”

An easy smile that doesn’t reach the man’s eyes come to his mouth. “Of course you are. Trust me, if you were not welcomed here, you’d know it.”

Of that you have no doubt.

There’s something…off-putting about this man. Just last night he said he ‘hadn’t been in this dimension that long’. What could that possibly mean?

Regardless, you move to take the seat at the far end of the table as you had yesterday.

“Would you like some coffee? Help yourself to the pot on the counter. Cups are in the second cabinet.” Stanford says politely before you can reach the chair, his gaze returned to his book.

Nodding, you busy yourself with the task, trying to shake yourself of the unnerving feeling the man causes. Though he hasn’t done anything really, there’s an odd intensity about him. You briefly wonder what he’s reading so diligently.

Mug of coffee in hand, you sit in the chair and sip in silence.

He doesn’t speak again for a while, though when he does it’s in that same controlled tone. “If you’re looking for my brother I’m afraid you’re up two hours too early. The children don’t even wake for another half hour.”

You look up from your glass at his words. “Oh. I am sorry, I was unsure of what time it was to begin with.”

“It’s quite alright. You’re welcome to wait here for the rest of the house to get up.” He says.

Silence resumes. It’s not, _uncomfortable_ , necessarily. Just patient, as though he’s expecting you to say more.

When you don’t do so, he speaks again, his tone slightly playful. “So I never did catch your name. My brother being a bit enamored with you and all, I feel it’s something I should know.”

You tell him your name, though give him a scrutinizing look. “…You, are ok with that, then?”

At that he looks up from the book, brow cocked in clear confusion.

You clear your throat, fighting back the flush of embarrassment. “Your brother, and I.”

Oddly enough, he laughs, waving a hand before returning his eyes to the page before him. “Oh yes. My brother’s always been the greedy sort. It’s no surprise to me his preferences in partners are the same way*.”

Your teeth clench slightly as you turn your attention to your mug. You’re not really sure what to make of that statement.

Neither of you speak for a time after that, though Stanford hardly seems to care as he continues his reading.

It’s a strange feeling, sitting in this house with this man. You find yourself grasping at straws, wanting to say something but unsure how to start.

“…So!” you say, hopefully with the air of someone wanting to talk and not of one forcing them self to. “You are Stan’s brother, that’s…nice.”

Mentally, you slap yourself.

“Yes and you are Stan’s lover.” He replies factually, again not looking at you.

Heat rushes to your face at his words, causing you to look out the window. “Ah-ha, I, wouldn’t go as far to say that. Lover is a bit of a steep term for us.” You mumble.

“Oh?”

His tone catches your ear. You look back to him and are alarmed to see he’s frowning and now fully attentive to you.

You blink. “Um, yes?”

His eyes narrow. “So if you _aren’t_ his significant other than what, pray tell, are you?” there’s a snappish defensiveness in his voice that has you reeling.

“I-, n-no! Uh, what I meant is…well, we _had_ a history together, some time ago. It was, many, _many_ decades ago and-”

“What brings you here now then?” He cuts across impatiently.

You shrug helplessly at the sudden verbal assault. “I-I was just, traveling through when I saw him. I remembered him and thought it’d be nice to catch up. For old time’s sake!”

There’s a glint in his eyes that makes you visibly swallow. “Is that so? Meaning, you have no ulterior motives for being here?”

You’re mouth literally falls open at the suggestion. “ _Que_ (what)?! Like what?”

He stands from his chair. “My brother, though a charlatan and a thief, has made quite a name for himself here. Surely you’re not the sort to come and claim any such entitlement for his success are you?”

“N-no! I would _never-_ ”

“Good!” he closes his book with a loud snap and folds it under his arm. “Because though he and I may have a strained relationship right now, he’s still my brother.”

Abruptly, he leans in across the table, towering over you. “And he’s suffered enough heartache in his life from people taking from him. So if I think, for even a second, that you are using him, there _will_ be consequences.”

There’s a darkness in his voice that sends a shiver of unpleasantness down your spine. He holds intense eye contact with you a moment longer, before pulling away, with that same polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, have a good day.” He says, almost cheerfully, and strolls out of the room as though he _wasn’t_ just threatening you.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear a distant door (presumably the basement) open and then shut.

It’s peculiar. While you do feel jarred and slightly insulted at his insinuation, it’s nice to see Stan’s brother really does care for him, even if Stan can’t quite see that himself.

-

You’re alone for some time after Ford’s dramatic departure, sipping on coffee, staring at the wall.

The silence is nice and allows your mind to drift to wayward place. You wonder about your apartment in South Carolina, if the landlord is still angry that you’re so irregular in getting your mail or if those kids down the hall still enjoy running around the foyer with sticks or whatever they had that always makes such a racket.

Kids.

At the time you had seen Stan, you didn’t really think much to what his situation would be, too caught up in that fact that he was alive. You didn’t expect to see children living here, much less a lively two like Dipper and Mable.

Stan had said that after stealing his brother’s identity he’d reconnected with the family. Did that mean as himself or that Ford had cut ties some time ago before the identity theft?

Family dynamics certainly tended to be fickle things. In your culture you do anything and everything for those titled ‘family’. It’s about what’s good for ‘the family’ as a whole, not the individual.

But what did that mean, anyway? ‘Family’. Just a bunch of people forced to be together because they came out of each other? You never felt any particular warmth from many of your family members, not after puberty anyways. Even Alejandro seemed to be a bit distant when your sexual preference came to light.

Still, you always felt an obligation to them. Not out ‘love’ necessarily, but because it was your duty. And they, in turn, felt the same. Certainly, you cared for them but at times it was so easy to hate them.

When the immediate members had died, you’d felt so alone at first. Broken. You didn’t think you had a purpose anymore.

But as the years went on and you made your way in life, you realized there is a sense of freedom in being away from them. Freedom, to be your own person and to make your own choices.

It is a bittersweet thing, as there is loneliness to being without family but there’s also exhilaration in being alone. You wonder if this is how Stan had felt all those years ago.

So caught up in your thoughts are you, that you don’t hear the back door to the kitchen open, but you’re not so absent minded that you don’t hear the shout of “Hello!” behind you and somewhere to your left.

Mid-drink, you sprew coffee on the table at the shock, jumping to your feet, “M-mabel?” you cough when you look down and see, not just the girl in question, but two other girls looking at you with eager smiles.

Mabel’s braces shine with how wide she’s smiling as she ushers you back to your seat. “Yep, that’s me! Sit down, sit down! I want you to meet my friends. This is Candy and that’s Grenda.”

“I- uh, h-how did you get here? I thought you were still in bed. I’ve been waiting down here for everyone to wake up.” You say as you sit.

“Oh well I woke up earlier this morning and went to my friends’ house so I could tell them about you!” She says flippantly as she sits at your side.

The other girls follow suit. You notice all three girls seem really eager to be near you and it’s causing a bit of discomfort.

“Soooo…” Mabel says keenly.

You blink. “Uh, yes?”

“Is it true you have a dark, romantic past with Mabel’s grunkle Stan??” the larger of the two, (Grenda? What nationality of name is that?) asks, barely contained as she practically yells in your ear.

Too many things are going through your mind right now. Embarrassment at that statement, shock at how she knows about that aspect of your life (not to mention that voice! How on earth did a young girl sound so…rugged?).

In the end you just turn to Mabel with a frown. “Mabel!”

“What?? Oh come on! We just wanna hear your story! No judgment here! Just hardcore romantics.” Mabel says insistently.

You look between Mabel and her friends, their eyes wide with anticipation. You sigh heavily. “Why on earth would you want to know? Don’t you find it…disgusting?”

Mabel tilts her head. “Uh, hello? We’re girls. We like romance and junk.”

“Especially the dark, forbidden kind. So magical.” The smaller girl, Candy, adds.

Awkwardly, you rub the back of your head. “Well, yes, _that_ I understand but…I’m a man! And, he is…also. Doesn’t that, I don’t know, make the story less appealing? Sickening?”

Mabel frowns. “I don’t see what any of _that_ has to do with a good romance.”

“Yeah, I mean, lots of people are gay.” Grenda bellows, but with a kind smile.

Your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. They can’t be serious. Sure, you’ve noticed the world being far more open-minded, how could you not? And it is 2012 but come on! In South Carolina it’s more tolerated than anything. Certainly not, _encouraged,_ like this.

You shake your head in disbelief. “B-but I’m a man! And I’m _old_! Doesn’t that bother you, at all??”

You watch the excitement drain from the girls as they all share a look. And when they look back to you, you’re alarmed even further by the pity on their faces.

Mabel gently puts a hand over your own. “No, it doesn’t bother us. Seems to bother you an awful lot though.”

Again, she’s shocked you into silence. Ever since you’ve met this girl it seems she’s got quite a knack for doing that.

She rubs you hand comfortingly. “You must’ve been shamed pretty hard to be this upset about it.”

You snort softly. “Of course, but that’s just natural. I was second in a strong household where the man is supposed to be just that, _a man_. Not some…” you stop there, unsure how they’d react to the negativity you’ve grown accustom to associating with yourself.

There’s a brief pause, then the little girl, Candy, asks hesitantly. “Where in Colombia did you live?”

You look back at her, then to the other girls. Their faces are open, though that sympathy is still there. With a heavy sigh you answer. “Coveñas, Colombia.”

And just like that, you begin to tell them your tale.

Starting first with your family and the general prejudice you lived with after reaching pubescence, just to give a better background of how you came to think the way you do, then slowly leading up to your meeting with Stan.

“-I worked in a bar, owned by the gang my brother was affiliated with.”

“What was the name of it?” Mabel asks.

You scoff and point to your right cheek. “Read it off my face.”

The girls gasped in unison, covering their mouths in surprise.

“You, _carved_ the name of the gang into your _face_??” Grenda exclaimed.

Candy shakes her head. “That is hard-core. You must have been very devoted to their cause.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you. “Oh no! I was never part of the gang. This was…punishment, of sorts.”

Mabel’s eyes widen. “For what?”

It’s jarring to you, how that question makes your stomach knot. Though it’s been many years, the night it happened still very much haunts you, as this morning showed.

You close your eyes, setting your mug down. “Well, it began when I met a man named Stan. Just a few years older than myself. American, I knew right away. He’d just come out of prison, said Rico was a cellmate of his who told him he could make money work for the gang, _El Odio_.”

Telling the story is much easier when you can’t see the girls, but you feel them lean in all the same with that enthusiastic air from earlier.

“Working as I had, I knew most people who made deals with _El Odio_ were either very vicious or very desperate and scared. Stan was neither of these.” A smile reaches your face. “In fact, he actually sat at the bar and spoke to me. No one had ever done so before him.”

“The bar was just used as a cover for the gang’s illegal work; most that came to the place were too frightened or too hardened to engage in such pleasantries, so of course it took me by surprise when he did.”

You fold your hands under your chin, eyes still closed. “We talked a while and even after the gang had him in their clutches we continued to talk. He’d come in, day after day, sit at the bar and order up just about anything. He’d barely drink it as we talked well into the night or until he had gang duties to do.”

A warm feeling in your chest begins to well as the wistful grin on your face widens. “He was so handsome to me then. Long brown hair, strong, broad shoulders and those eyes…” a small shiver runs down your back. “Eyes of dark honey, so warm you could melt in them. I never knew one’s eyes could be so, enchanting.”

The collective, dreamy sigh from the girls causes you to open your eyes. All three practically have hearts in their eyes, the expressions on their faces cause heat to race to your face.

You clear your throat heavily. “I mean, um, that part is not important to mention, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t-”

Together, the three girls groan.

“Oh don’t stop now!”

“Yeah, I’m trying to imagine this grunkle Stan!”

“Please, keep going!”

Huffing lightly, you clamp your eyes shut. “Fine, fine. He was the first person, man or woman, to be so kind with me, ok? We struck up a quick friendship-”

“Oh-ho right! Because that sounds like a ‘close friendship’ to me.” Mabel interrupts.

You look down at her in mild annoyance. “Well! That’s how it started!”

She rolls her eyes. “Ok, so when did that change into the obvious romance?”

“Yeah! Get back to the good stuff!” Grenda adds.

Shaking your head, you close your eyes again. “ _Los ninas agresivos_ (pushy children).” You mutter.

“Alright, you’re correct. It was a fast friendship but after a few months we wound up in June. His birthday.”

A soft frown comes to your face at the memory. “He was so sad that day. Everything about him was off from the minute he entered the bar. He was very heartbroken. I found out later because it was one of many he’d spent alone, separated from his brother.”

“At the time I just recognized he was sad. So I decided to cheer him up.” A smile once more comes to your lips. “I got out the best bottle of tequila from the bar and we had a toast to his life.”

You chuckle. “A toast slowly became a few drinks and a few drink turned into a drinking game and then,” you pause, cracking an eye open to look at the girls around you.

It’s occurring to you that this story might not be completely appropriate for them. You cough into your fist. “I mean, that is to say, we spent his birthday together, celebrating his life.”

You close eyes once more. “He had such a good night. Said it was the best birthday he’d had in a lo~ng time.” You draw out the ‘o’, just as he had that night.

“Since he’d been kicked out of his home even. Told me, I was the nicest person he’d meet in a long time.” You say lowly, your heart picking up its pace at the very memory of his eyes, laden with the alcohol but still shining so bright. That crooked smile on his lips, the touch of his hand over yours.

“He said I was…‘cute’.” You giggle, freakin’ _giggle_ at the remembrance. “I know he wasn’t exactly in the right mind, but I felt like he meant it. And then he kissed me and it felt like I was holding an electric cord. Tingling from my head to my feet. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before.”

You pause, reflecting on the feeling itself. Even after so many years, when he kissed you last night it still had that spark. That feeling of bliss, of just the two of you. To think it had remained after all these years…

A tug at your sleeve causes you to open your eyes. The girls are practically trembling in their excitement. “And, and?? What happened next?!” Mabel asks.

Now you’re positive you’re blushing. While you don’t recall every detail due to the intoxication, you remember that after that kiss Stan led you back to his hotel room and you had sex.

“Nothing!” you say, perhaps a little too quickly and too loudly. You cough into your fist. “That is, nothing. We, uh, it was just a kiss! That’s all! And then, well, after that night we were…more close.”

“Was he your bo~yfriend?” Mabel presses.

You cover your eyes with your hand. “ _Ayy_. Must you call it that?”

When they respond with vigorous nods you groan and concede to the question. “Yes, yes, alright. He was, my b-boyfriend.” you utter the last word so softly you hoped they didn't catch it.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sudden squeals that fill the air. All three girls seem to have lost their minds as they hug themselves and scream.

You cover your ears and stomp on the floor, hoping to get them to quiet down. “ _La cagada!_ (shit!), _Silencio!_ (Be quiet!) You’ll wake the dead with that ear-piercing noise!”

Mabel calms first, grinning widely. “Nah, not without the incantation of the dead, so then what happened?”

There’s a slight ringing remaining in your ears. You shake your head a little to try to clear it. “Well-”

“Hey guys.” A sleepy voice yawns.

The four of you look over to the entryway. Dipper yawns again as he drags his feet to the table. “Mabel, can’t you guys wait until after breakfast before going guy-crazy?”

“Can’t be helped Dip, grunkle Stan’s _boyfriend_ was just telling us the story of how they met!” She says cheekily.

“Hey!” you say quickly.

Before you can truly object to Mabel’s wording, Dipper’s eyes widen and he leans across the table. “What?! You started questioning him without me? Mabel! I was the one who started this mystery; you couldn’t wait till I woke up?”

“You were taking too long!” she says defensively. “I tried to shake you up this morning. I was just so excited!”

“Well did he get to the part about the scar?”

“No, but he _did_ say it was a punishment from a gang he and grunkle Stan did work for.”

At that all the children look back to you expectantly.

You pull at your collar. “Well, yes. But ah, it wasn’t as though we were both with the gang. Like I said, I was never a member, just used as part of the cover thanks to my older brother’s involvement-”

“But what did you two do to get the scar?” Dipper cuts across.

A frown comes firmly to your face. “It’s not what _we_ did. It’s what _Stan_ did.”

The four children gasped and gathered closer to you.

You close your eyes again. It much easier to tell the tale without seeing the children’s faces. “Not that I hold any old resentment. I’ve long since come to terms with what happened. But as I was saying, Stan joined _El Odio_ out of need. He needed money and working for them, he got it. But he also got close to some core members and far more deeply involved than he should have.”

“What did he have to do when he was in the gang?” one of them ask.

You don’t open your eyes to see who spoke, instead shaking your head. “You don’t need to know that. Just know, that it was bad. Gangs, are _bad_. His circumstance for joining them was understandable, desperation can drive people to things they shouldn’t do. Stan is a good man, too good to be leading that kind of life. And he knew it too. That’s why he tried to get out.”

“Well, getting _out_ of a gang is a good thing though, right?”

As you open your eyes you look at each of the children darkly, hoping to convey the seriousness of your words as you tell them. “Yes. But to get out, is so much harder than to get in. Stan risked his life getting out. You wondered why I was so shaken when I saw him? Because when I last saw him, decades ago, he was being beaten to near death and shoved in the trunk of a car. He was being put to death.”

You pause, allowing the words to sink in before following up with a warning. “That’s why, never, _never_ even _think_ of getting involved with a gang. It could be the very last thing, you ever do.”

For a moment they just stare at you then each other and a small part of you feels proud, if nothing else, this tale might keep these kids on the right path.

“Ok…but, uh, how did, er…the s-scar?” Dipper meekly asks.

No longer worried about glamorizing gang life, you continue with the story with a much lighter tone. “Ah. Well, as I said, Stan was trying to get out of the gang and he chose to do this, by double crossing them. And because of our, ‘relationship’," you suppress a cringe. "he had asked me to join him and run away to Venezuela.”

Even now, the idea feels you with a mixture of feelings. “He was so sure of himself. Positive he could get out of the gang’s clutches and that the two of us could escape and, I don’t know, have what he called ‘a real life’ together.”

The girls share grins amongst themselves, causing you to smile lightly. “Yes, a romantic thought. One I didn’t expect to get from him really. I, hadn’t thought he cared enough for me to involve me in his scheme.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes once more. “But, I could never relax enough to go along with him. He begged me to, on multiple occasions. ‘Trust me’ he said. I could not. I knew _El Odio_ and I knew that this attempt was suicide. I pleaded with him not to go through with it, and I was ignored.”

You huff. “Stubborn as a mule, that man. We were both frustrated in our efforts to save each other, maybe that’s why _El Odio_ caught on to him. Perhaps if I weren’t there as a distraction, he would’ve gotten away with it. I cannot say. However it had happened, they found out of Stan’s plans and of our, involvement.”

“They used me as bait, set up a trap for him at the docks.” You hug yourself tightly as the memory flows. “He came to meet me under false pretenses, the gang had set up an ambush and when he came, they beat him. My brother had ordered my life be spared, but the member leading the attack felt that I needed to be punished as well, for my fraternization with Stan.”

Habitually, your right hand leaps to your face. “He cut their name into my face. Said that in this way, I’d never be able to stray from _El Odio_ again, that anyone who saw me would know…who, I belonged to.” You voice is a tight whisper now.

At times you can still feel the searing burn of the knife in your skin, feel his dirty hands on your person. Hurting you, using you. And in this moment you realize how foolish you’ve been to come here. To try anything with Stan, or anyone, after all you’ve been through is pointless. You are filth. The scar says it all.

You shake your head roughly and jump to your feet. “I was taken home and never saw Stan again. I was led to believe he was killed that day but I was wrong. He managed to escape and now here we are. The end.” You say hurriedly, turning your back on all the children.

No one speaks for a time and you’re just fine with that.

“Wow…that’s, such a sad story.” Mabel’s friend says.

“But, it doesn’t have to be. I mean, you’re here now. And grunkle Stan! He’s here and, well, you guys seemed to be hitting it off last night.” Mabel adds.

You don’t respond, attempting to keep your composure. You hadn’t expected to be thrown into another fit like this, but the retelling of the tale has your heart trying to climb from your throat, the panic of this morning coming back into full swing.

After a few deep breaths, you trust yourself enough to speak. “I’m just here to visit a friend. Perhaps even that, was a mistake.”

“No!” a chair screeches as you’re sure she’s pushed away from the table.

You’re proven correct as Mabel comes to your side and pulls on your shirt sleeve. “No, no! That, that’s just too sad! You can’t _mean_ that! Look at you two! Yesterday, that was the sincerest kiss I’ve ever seen! And you’re here now! Both of you are! And in every romance movie or book I’ve ever seen clearly shows that this is fate. That you two _belong_ together!”

While you don’t turn to face her directly, you do glance down at her and shake your head. “Reality isn’t that simple, Mabel. There’s no telling what the future will hold but I am not counting on it to be pleasant.”

Now it is you that has made _her_ speechless.

Carefully, you pull your sleeve from her grasp and walk to the backdoor. “I am, going back to my hotel in town, should Stan ask. Perhaps he can stop by and see me off.”

You don’t stay to listen to the children’s protests as they try to get you to stay and instead continue on, taking the route back to town that you’ve grown so familiar with walking.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it. Angsty with just enough humor I think. More to come. Oh and the * during the Ford dialogue was for an explanation if someone didn’t understand what he meant. Now, I’m not sure if people still say this, but some time ago, when a person was bi or just had multiple partners, some might call them ‘the greedy sort’, referring to them wanting more than just women or just men. That’s all.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be a chapter fic, hope it's going well.


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